Han's and Why's《》

Tape #1

The package isn't anything grand, it's a plain box. A plain worn-out corrugated box - one that looked like it went through hurricanes and tornados alike. He yanked it open carelessly, it's a suspiscious little thing.

What welcomed him is a bunch of useless crap. it's full of tapes, those old fashioned tapes, a note, and a postcard. Minho isn't sure if it's even for him. But it sure is sent to his address, has his name, although he has nothing to be delivered or ordered from jazzthecatshop.com.

Strange.

Something about it irks him off, itching at the back of his skull, as if his subconscious is pulling his migraine to the back of his head. All of the strangest things that has ever happened to only revolved unto one and one person only.

He clicked his tongue and he flipped through it, just checking and making sure the parcel wasn't a bomb but still took it inside his home. He recklessly poured its contents into the center table. Not even minding if he breaks any contents, not a single thought about his actions at all. His face then quickly soured at taking a glance at the content. This was the itch, the creeping anger that burns in the pits of his stomach. Rest assured that he was indeed much composed than before. Je can't help it. It triggers his pain receptors and stiffens gis whole body. Anything the ever reminded him of him.

That trigger being is thr  postcard of London the fell from the box. His hunch and gut feeling being proven right. He was biting his lips as if it would break skin.

No, It's all but bitter taste in his mouth. It boils in his system and in the corner of his vision.

There's only one significant thing in London and it's meeting the Han Jisung. It singed pain in his chest and sides, He lost all his energy amd his shoulders droop low. He dropped the empty box on the floor midlessly before even fully looking at the written message behind the supposedly sweet postcard lole in any movies.

Sadness seeping in or dismay, call it whatever you want but Minho doesn't want any of it. He didn't read the letter, No. He ran way from it. It's just silly tapes. But his heart was thumping and head drumming at the sight of it. Like a child putting on his tantrums, he stomps around and rans to the bathroom to empty his guts out.

He eventually caves in. He was restless. He hasn't eaten a single matter today. It was all too much, that it's stupid.

The writings is hammering his brains and he barely skimmed through the sentences. He hates it.

He hates Han Jisung.

Even the delivery guy is so shady, with curly hair and lips pouty enough like a cartoon character. The guy didn't even ask for his signature and payment.

Very Jisung, honestly, to send someone rather than face him or talk to him upfront. Always running away, Minho learned that from him. He thought- He daid to himself thay he'd be able to hold him in place, Be everything that the guy never had. The real thing. And they were doing great. Not until they weren't. He thought he understood Jisung, but he couldn't and he was not enough.

Shaking off the distraction, He scanned the postcard, the handwriting already screams who it was. He should've figured out. Of course. Who else could it be? He ruffles his hair, irritated and in denial.

Just like who he thought it's gonna be.

Ah...It's Jisung. His mind whirrs with an endless Jisung.

Minho struggled with all the anxiety that built up on his chest. He laid his back on the sofa, and stares off blankly on the ceiling. After taking a long contemplation, he went for the fridge, disregarding the package and the pile of tapes sitting in his center table...